


Night Moves

by aussiebee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, College Student Stiles, M/M, Scott is a bit odd, supermarket
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 14:20:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15196625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aussiebee/pseuds/aussiebee
Summary: Stiles, the young night manager working crap hours for worse pay to put himself through college, is oddly enamoured by the hulking, leather-clad mess of angry eyebrows that comes in every Friday night half an hour before close to shop. The best part of his week. Totally worth missing out on the parties and wild nights out just to watch Derek argue with the self-checkout and struggle to weigh tomatoes.





	Night Moves

**Author's Note:**

> This was started by always-the-little-spoon on Tumblr. I just ran with it.

[always-the-little-spoon:](http://always-the-little-spoon.tumblr.com/post/174835619295/derek-isnt-great-with-people-not-since-he-was-a) _Derek isn’t great with people. Not since he was a teenager and he lost his entire family. Now he’s a bit of a recluse, not that it stops the curious gossips from talking in a small town._

_The late-night supermarket across town put in self check-outs. Derek is more than willing to drive the twenty minutes across town rather than go to the store down the street in order to avoid the awkward checkout conversation wherein most cashiers inappropriately flirt with him, ask odd invasive questions like ‘how are you?’ or ‘having a good day?’_

_Stiles, the young night manager working crap hours for worse pay to put himself through college, is oddly enamoured by the hulking, leather-clad mess of angry eyebrows that comes in every Friday night half an hour before close to shop. The best part of his week. Totally worth missing out on the parties and wild nights out just to watch Derek argue with the self-checkout and struggle to weigh tomatoes._

_Teasing; well, it’s a form of endearment._

 

 

* * *

“There’s not a single god damn item in the bagging area, you utterly unhelpful, hypersensitive, overly-critical heap of scrap,” Stiles heard from where he was crouched down behind the Service Desk next to the self-serve checkouts.

“Hey, don’t talk to Bucky like that,” he said, standing up straight and smirking at where Sexy Bearded Nightshopper was scowling at the one bag on the bagging area that has a dozen tomatoes in. “He’s trying his best.”

“I wouldn’t have to if the stupid thing would just–  _Bucky?”_  he finished incredulously.

“Bucky,” Stiles confirmed cheerfully, too cheerfully, he suspected, for half two in the morning. “Half-metal, half-brooding malcontent, desperately in love with Steve.” Sexy Bearded Nightshopper eyed Stiles with a curious mixture of disbelief and reluctant curiosity. Stiles just waited, interested to see which way he was going to go.

“Who is Steve?” SBN ground out, clearly loathing himself the moment the words were spoken.

“Steve,” Stiles said, ducking out from behind the desk to assist SBN, “is Bucky here’s One True Love. He patted the checkout next to Bucky and grinned widely. Steve, meet Sexy Bearded Nightshopper. Sexy Bearded Nightshopper, meet Steve and Bucky.”

The tips of his ears turning pink as Stiles scanned his ID over the sensor to fix the scales’ malfunction, SBN seemed content to ignore Stiles’ name for him, as well as the introduction. “You’re trying to tell me two of your self-serves are in a homosexual relationship?”

“Aht, we don’t throw labels around,” Stiles informed SBN archly. “But yes, their love is an epic for the ages.” He leaned back against Steve and watched as SBN scanned a couple more items before Bucky needed to take another break. Again, Stiles came to the rescue. “You know, I could just have Scott put your stuff through if you wanted to–” Stiles trailed off when he turned to gesture to the one staffed register, only to find Scott lying on his back on the conveyor, sound asleep. “Oh for cryin’ out loud.” He snatched up a bag of skittles from the impulse bar and lobbed it across the store, fist pumping when it hit Scott square in the side of his head and he flailed awake so hard he fell off the conveyor.

He turned back to SBN to see the last moment of what could have, potentially, been the remnants of a tiny smile disappear from the guy’s gorgeous face.  _“As I was saying, Scott,”_  he said loudly, “if my staff were even  _awake_  I could have saved you Bucky’s PTSD flashback moments and–”

“Don’t like people,” SBN said with a scowl. “This is fine.”

“You realise that I’m a people, right?” Stiles grinned, saving SBN once more.

“I stand by what I said,” SBN told him, straight-faced.

“Might have to revise your nickname, come to think of it,” Stiles frowned back. “’Bearded Nightshopping Asshole’ might work.”

The Shopper Previously Known As SBN huffed what could have been considered a laugh by employees who didn’t know any better and swiped his card to pay for his things. “Do you have a manager I could speak to?” he asked casually.

“Oh,  _un_ lucky, I  _am_  the manager,” Stiles told him, aiming for menacing and missing by approximately a mile.

“Does it make you feel powerful to say it like that?” TSPKASBN asked dryly.

“Like I could rampage through these aisles like Godzilla in downtown Tokyo.”

There was a squeal of feedback from the store’s P.A. system and then Scott began talking with his mouth much too close to the mic, as always.

_“Attention customers,”_  he began as per usual,  _“the time is now two forty five, and the store will be closing in fifteen minutes. If you would kindly finalise your purchases and make your way to the registers, it would be greatly appreciated. It would also be greatly appreciated if the dude flirting with the night manager would leave his name and number before exiting the store.”_

There was another squeal of feedback, then an awkward silence, and  _then_  Stiles clapped his hands together once, loud in the otherwise-empty store. “Welp, that was incredibly embarrassing. FOR SCOTT,” he shouted towards the back of the store, making TSPKASBN startle. “On an utterly unrelated note, do you know anyone in need of a job? I have a sneaking suspicion there will be a job opening for a night cashier  _very. soon.”_

Stiles just sighed a little as the beautiful guy just shot him a confused look and left without another word.

At 0230 exactly one week later, Stiles was sitting behind the customer service desk again, his textbooks, notebooks, pens and phone spread out in front of him. He was halfway through his five thousand word assignment for abnormal psych when he heard Scott approach.

“Dude, unless the store is on fire or you know much about prospective versus inhibitory intolerance of uncertainty, I am on break,” he muttered, pen clenched between his teeth as he ran a finger down a page of his textbook.

“It’s a cognitive construct strongly linked to psychopathologies like anxiety and obsessive-compulsion. But that’s about all I know.”

Jerking his head up in surprise at the decidedly not-Scott voice, Stiles was pleased to see Once Again Sexy Bearded Nightshopper frowning down at him. “Hey man, back to make another move on Bucky? Because I gotta tell you,” he faux-whispered conspiratorially behind one raised hand, “Steve is the jealous type.”

OASBN only looked confused, rather than concerned, but Stiles figured he was probably big and strong enough to take Bucky on just fine. Especially considering Bucky wasn’t mobile enough to fight. Also, he wasn’t alive. So. “What’re you in for tonight, dude?”

“Don’t call me dude,” Sexy Bearded Nightshopper  _Dude_ growled. “Are there any more coconuts out back?” he continued. “There aren’t any more in the produce area.”

Leaning back on his stool to snag the mic, Stiles keyed it and spoke, keeping his mouth an appropriate distance from the metal, thank you very much. “Yo, Scot _tay_ \- any more of the brown and hairies, bro? Over.”

There was a moment of silence, during which Stiles had to work really hard not to laugh at the expression on SBND’s face, Scott replied, also via the P.A.  _“Affirmative, Fearless Leader; will transport them to your position via the usual route. Over and out.”_

Nodding, pleased, Stiles beamed at SBND. “Might want to watch your feet, my dude.”

Just as SBND looked torn between irritated and confused, Stiles heard the telltale sound of incoming, and leaned forward over the counter to see a pair of coconuts rolling down the aisle in front of the checkouts from the back of the store. Having long perfected his technique, Scott knew just how much force was required to ensure safe delivery, and Stiles cheered when the pair of coconuts bumped gently against the front of the counter and came to a stop.

SBND opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again before making a frustrated noise, crouching to retrieve the coconuts, then prowling off to continue glaring the groceries into submission.

Stiles assumed.

He returned to his assignment, making some okay headway when he gradually became aware of irritated muttering he could barely make out. He glanced over to find SBND removing and then replacing a bag of groceries to the weight plate, only to be instructed to move it again.

“Told you,” he said chidingly as he scanned his card. “Bucky can tell when Steve is upset.”

“I don’t know whether or not your desire to anthropomorphise these machines is as a result of sociality or effectance,” SBND said, sounding slightly bewildered.

Surprised and pleased that the guy was speaking his language, Stiles laughed. “You just  _assume_  it’s not elicited agent knowledge, but that just shows what you know. Which is to say,  _nada.”_

“You never really grew out of your egocentric reasoning phase, did you?” Swiping his credit card to pay– and hey! The guy was getting better!– SBND somehow managed to look both offended and resigned when Stiles peeked into his (calico, screen-printed, somehow-endearingly hipster) enviro-bags to see what he was purchasing.

“Wow. Thats a lot of meat.”

_“That’s what she said!”_  Scott hollered from somewhere in the store that really didn’t sound close enough for him to have been able to overhear it.

“What’re the coconuts for?” Stiles asked, grabbing one of the bags and walking with SBND to the exit.

Looking like he was debating whether or not to answer, SBND eventually sighed. “Coconut ladoo. My neighbour likes it. He’s harassing me into making it for him.”

“Sounds ethnic and delicious,” Stiles agreed. “So, does harassment always work to make you do what other people want?”

As the automatic doors opened, SBND turned to look directly at Stiles, still looking flawless despite the truly horrific overhead fluorescents. “You are incredibly inappropriate.” And with that, he took his bag from Stiles, turned and walked across the lot to the fucking gorgeous black car parked next to Stiles’ Jeep. And Scott’s skateboard, which was literally just sitting in the middle of a parking space with a bike chain wrapped twice around the middle of it.

“I think you meant  _thank you,”_  Stiles hollered after him, receiving a dismissively waved hand in response without turning around.

“Dude’s into you,” Scott said, scaring the bejeebus out of Stiles as he stood right behind him and chewed noisily.

“Why are you eating a raw potato, Scott?”

Scott shrugged. “’s crunchy. But I’m right; he likes you.”

Stiles snorted. “Stick to processed foods, Scotty; I think this raw food thing you got going on is doing more harm than good.”

 

The next night when Stiles arrived at work it was to find that a small container of pale, perfectly shaped balls of coconutty goodness had been left for him by a customer, as well as Volume 9 of the [Journal of Obsessive-Compulsive and Related Disorders](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.sciencedirect.com%2Fscience%2Fjournal%2F22113649&t=YzFiMGMwMWExYTY2MzcxZGQ4ZmE2Y2I3ODMxOWE2MjU2NWJjMjQ2Nyw5amRtemFJcQ%3D%3D&b=t%3A_4KT21ts7GI0aumnKY8t2A&p=https%3A%2F%2Faussiebee.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F174849651890%2Falways-the-little-spoon-derek-isnt-great-with) with an article in it matching his assignment topic.

_Hope this helps,_  the note read in a strong, sure hand.  _And I know the ladoo are small, but please try not to choke. -Derek._

 

The weekly Friday interactions continued over the course of the entire semester. Stiles began to look forward to it more than he figured he probably should, and was worried to realise he was starting to fall a little in love with Derek. The guy never gave him an inch, challenged every word he said and was generally as grumpy as Walter Matthau  _looked_ , but behind the scowls and the majestic eyebrows–

_“I said majestic and I stand by it, Derek; do not try and take this from me!”  
_

_“Take this from– Stiles, they’re_ my _damn eyebrows!”  
_

_“For now, buddy. Watch yourself.”_

–there lay a truly spectacular brain, witheringly dry wit and a soul-deep agony for his dead family that Stiles wanted so desperately to try and alleviate that it made him ache.

All that was far from his mind, however, the Friday night before his Abnormal Psych final. He was frantic with study, not feeling prepared  _at all_  when Derek showed up.

“If you’re going to have a neurotic breakdown, could you do it when I’m not around to feel guilted into helping you?” he sniped with a mean grin when he saw the state of Stiles’ hair from being abused by his hands.

“Nervous breakdown,” Stiles corrected absently, flicking through his notes to find something he was sure he’d forgotten entirely.

“I meant what I said,” Derek told him, leaning against the counter and taking Stiles’ notes from him. “Come and do my shopping for me. You need to take a break.”

“Oh, because there’s nothing I’d love more than to shop for you instead of studying or doing my actual  _job,”_  Stiles groused.

“Did I not just tell you that?” Derek antagonised, unsurprised when Stiles ‘accidentally’ ran the cart into the side of his leg. “And don’t lie, you haven’t done your actual job for as long as I’ve known you. Apples.”

“He says as I am customer servicing him right now,” Stiles muttered. “You don’t need apples, you bought four pounds of them last week.”

“And now I have none.”

“You ate four pounds of apples in a week?” Stiles asked incredulously.

Derek shrugged. “I made pie.” 

“And I received no pie, no pie at all. You’re a dirty tease.” The look Derek levelled at him was inscrutable. “Get pears.”

“I don’t like pears.”

“Maybe not, but I like that pear, pistachio and ganache thing you make,” Stiles shrugged. “You can get pears.”

“Fine. But I might spit in it.”

Considering that for a moment, Stiles nodded. “I can live with that.”

Making an expression of disgust, Derek still remained unsurprised. “You are exceedingly gross.”

“The fact that this is only now occurring to you concerns me greatly regarding your observational skills.”

“Trust me, it’s not the first time.”

“Aha! So you  _do_  notice me!”

“I would be easier to ignore my own hair being set on fire than it would be not to notice you.”

“Why Derek, you say the most psychotically sweet things.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

They continued shopping, the easy domesticity of it making Stiles relax as the wandered the store, until Scott notified them of the store’s closing by singing Stereosonic’s  _Closing Time._  Badly. And with a four minute guitar solo not featured in the original. Sans guitar.

As Stiles helped Derek load his groceries into the Camaro– and by that he meant removing the wheels from Scott’s skateboard and setting it up on four bricks he’d brought to work specifically for said purpose– Derek watched the way tension settled over Stiles shoulders again, and the crease returned to the space between his eyebrows that Derek just wanted to press his thumb to.

“Hey,” he said quietly, barely managing to refrain from smiling when Stiles looked up at him from where he was crouched down bricking the skateboard. “You’ll be fine.”

“Pfft, yeah, of course I will be.”

It was an attempted brush off, and Derek knew it. “You’re smart, Stiles, one of the smartest people I know. You’ve got this.”

Getting to his feet, Stiles watched Derek for a long moment. “Thanks, man.”

Glad Stiles took the compliment in the spirit of which it was intended, Derek swallowed down his sudden nerves and reached out to wrap his fingers around Stiles’. “So maybe, once your exams are done, we could go out and get coffee or something to celebrate?”

Colour flooded to Stiles’ cheeks even as his body drifted closer to Derek. “I like that idea.”

Feeling his own ears heat up, Derek smiled, a tiny, sweet thing. “Good.”

“How about a kiss for luck, though?” Stiles asked, feeling his stomach swoop as Derek’s hands slid up his arms, around his shoulders and to the sides of his neck, thumbs stroking in under his jaw to position his face perfectly.

“Wouldn’t want to be responsible for any bad luck,” Derek agreed readily, and drew Stiles in, pressing their mouths together in a kiss that started with a filthy drag of tongues and ended much the same way almost fifteen minutes later.

 

 

Stiles passed his exam.

They did  _not_  go for coffee.

They  _did_  celebrate, though.


End file.
